


Your Hand in Mine

by evisceral



Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Memory Loss, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-16
Updated: 2014-04-16
Packaged: 2018-01-19 13:57:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1472368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evisceral/pseuds/evisceral
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a strange new world he's shoved himself into, one that he doesn't recognize and doesn't understand. He's not sure he wants to, either. But there's something that stops him from rejecting it completely, from going back to Hydra like the good tool (weapon) that he is. </p><p> </p><p>Just a supposition for what happened after the film ended. Set before the final bonus scene.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Hand in Mine

**Author's Note:**

> First time writing Bucky, so apologies if it's a little rocky. Just had to get this out of my mind. Titled after Explosions In the Sky's Your Hand in Mine, since that was my soundtrack to writing it.

_"Bucky?"_

The voice echoes in the back of his mind as he jerks out of an uneasy sleep, sweat beading on his skin and heart racing. He never remembers the dreams he has, and this time is no different; he’s only ever left with a near-agonizing pain in his chest and the taste of copper in the back of his throat. Sometimes, he almost wishes for the deep, dark emptiness of the cryo chamber, where there is nothing and he is nothing. Anything would be better than the dreams and their aftermath. But at the same time, he doesn’t want to lose them. There’s something there, he knows it, is starving for that truth, and yet for the first time he can remember, he’s almost...afraid. (It's such a load of bullshit, to be afraid of dreams. They're _dreams_. They're nothing.) A voice in the back of his mind cautions that they aren't dreams, though it's simple enough to ignore. What happens when he wakes up isn't as easy, however, even as he realizes that it's not actually the dreams he fear. It's what they might mean. Of the weight they carry, their significance, what it might mean to him. (What it means he’s done.) It shouldn’t matter. There is nothing but the mission. There never has been. So why _does_ it matter?

He hasn’t returned to Hydra since the mission. His last mission. His _failed_ mission. It should have been so simple: eliminate two targets. ( _Should_ have been.) It’s his first failure, something that slithers in his skin, sends his fingers reaching for the knife under his pillow as the voice in his head screams that _failure is unacceptable_. A voice that isn’t his own and never has been, repeated phrases drilling into him how he is not permitted to fail. It’s not his voice, but he’s not sure what that’s supposed to sound like anymore. He’d failed, but not for lack of trying. The target had seen him, had fought back. Had saved his life, and then stopped fighting back. Why had the target stopped? It doesn’t make any sense, calls back the sick ache in his chest and the pain of _something_ rattling through his head. Words that don’t make any sense, fragments of nothing that he can’t connect. (A crooked smile, narrow shoulders, a promise that doesn't mean anything now, even if he can't remember what it is.) His grip tightens on the knife, bones creaking with the effort of it and knuckles blanching as his mind reels. It's the worst feeling, he's decided: to be haunted by something intangible.

When he lies back down, it's with great difficulty. He isn't used to this, having a bed and pillows and blankets. Most times when he wakes up, he finds he's kicked almost all of the adornments to the floor. It's too soft, too alien from what he's used to in the cryo chamber. Too hot as well, the motel room's shitty little air conditioning unit turned up to full blast and still not even close to comfortable. It's the price he pays for abandoning Hydra, though. (And, he realizes, he _has_ abandoned them. Jury's still out on whether or not he regrets it.) If sleeping in dingy motels and dealing with beds is the cost, then so be it.

It's a strange new world he's shoved himself into, one that he doesn't recognize and doesn't understand. He's not sure he wants to, either. But there's something that stops him from rejecting it completely, from going back to Hydra like the good tool ( _weapon_ ) that he is. It's in his last target's face, the way it refused to fight him. The star on the man's chest, the shield he'd carried. The way he'd called him Bucky, like he was supposed to know what that meant. It sticks in his throat, crawls deep into his bone marrow and makes him want to scream for how much it hurts. (He's been trained to withstand pain, but _this_. This is unlike anything he's ever felt. There are no words for how much it _hurts_.) It's the pain that drives him, the need to make it go away, to find out why it affects him like this when nothing else has.

"Captain America" he'd been called. Almost instantly, he remembers an advertisement for a Captain America exhibit at one of the museums, decides that tomorrow will be the day that he finally goes. His wounds have healed enough to let him blend in. It should pose no problem. The only thing stopping him is that fear, but he won't let it happen again. He's going to learn more about Captain America. He's going to find out why he'd backed down during their fight. What the meaning of his words were. He shuts his eyes, wills himself to go back to sleep as words echo in the back of his mind.

_"'Til the end of the line."_


End file.
